The Phantom of a Past Life
by Siashuria
Summary: In the city, he thought he had everything. That is, until a job stranded him in Forget-Me-Not Valley. However, the Valley is a magical place, and there, even a Phantom Thief will be able to see what he was missing. Multi-chapter. Skye-central.


_It has been a while, has it not, World?_

_Alright, well, this is something new I have been working on. It is a Skye-central fic, rotating around both who he is, and who he once was... or at least, who I see him to be. -shot- I will dabble with some romance later on, but for now, do not expect much from that realm.  
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_Feel free to comment/critique/correct, as I need all the help I can get, haha. Honestly, my ability to properly use quotation marks has not improved greatly.  
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_Thank you for your time, and I certainly hope that you are perhaps able to find at least a tinge of enjoyment in my silly little story.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon or any of its characters, settings, etc.._

**x-x-x**

Silence can be an astounding thing. Amazing, in the sense that a planet so gifted with life could have any fraction of it dedicated to such a lack of motion and vibration. The state was particularly impressive in a more shady area of a suburbia that morning. No footsteps collided with the cracked, weed-infested walkways, nor did any voices reverberate between the towering houses and trees. Along the abandoned, forlorn streets, it was as though even the debris were afraid to rustle and move with the chilling wind. Perhaps a cockroach or two could have been seen engorging upon the discarded treasures of the previous night's festivities, but that aside, one may have even gone so far as to question the presence of human activity along the street; it might as well have been a Hollywood set for a ghost town.

Of course, there were a few signs of life remaining. If you were to listen carefully at the entrance of any building, store, house, or otherwise, perhaps a gentle snore, or the groans of an oncoming storm of a hangover would be present. One of the local shops was not an exception to this concept. It was a rather worn structure in dire need of a few repairs. Russet paint was peeling off of the shutters and siding, curling upward as though the coating was starving for a glimpse of the sun. The door clung desperately to its frame by the clasp of a single hinge, and the majority of the glass windows were either cracked or missing entirely. In other words, it blended in perfectly with the surrounding establishments, and would have been lost within the scenery entirely if not for a neon sign which sat within a front display. With a few tired, orange flickers, it finally became clear what the hanging object had to say; "Phantom".

"Phantom"? What sort of name for a store was that? What goods could have possibly been stocked and shipped out by the dozen in such a silly building? Well, if you wanted to know, all you needed to do was ask anyone near-by. The man who ran the shoddy place was a mercenary, or a hired hand, so to speak. Pay him, and he would do it. It did not matter who you were, or what you wanted, he would retrieve whatever you so desired in one way or another. However, these rules only applied to one genre of work in the world, for the man behind the desk was proclaimed to be a shameless, womanizing, conniving, phantom thief. And because of this, few people dared to approach the establishment at all.

That morning, however, the oh-so-dangerous man was about as frightening as a carpet square in a padded room. Bent over his box-like desk, his head was resting upon his slender arms as a mane of sleek, silver hair hid every facial feature that the thief had to offer. The easy rise-and-fall of his flimsy shoulders was an oddly comforting sight, and you did not even have to catch a glimpse of his sealed eyelids to confirm that the man was asleep. Or, at least, was previously asleep. The first sign of awakening was a small twitch of his hands, ones thin and elegant enough to belong to a great pianist. Slowly, from there, motion came to spread throughout his body. His iron-toed, ebony boots let out a squeak as they slid across the linoleum floor, and gradually, his head tilted upward, revealing a set of solid, fatigue-induced circles hanging below his narrowed eyes.

However, once the pale man was finally able to comprehend what his hazy pools were seeing, the silence was shattered. The tall figure practically fell out of his office chair as he shoved himself violently away from his desk in a snap of alertness. Spinning into the wall, he stared, wide-eyed, as the cheap writing surface toppled over, creating a crash of unheard of proportions in that part of the neighborhood. It took a few minutes, and many deep breaths, but eventually, Skye began to rub his temples with understanding; he had fallen asleep at his office again. He had been up to his nose in various forms of work and must have dozed off at some point in time.

After another moment of silence, a deep chortle drifted into the heavy atmosphere. Skye could not help but ponder over the events with amusement. Hauling his lithe frame out of the chair, the thief cracked his back, and began to remedy the commotion he had created.

"How interesting..." the man's snake-like voice seeped through one of his typical, wry smiles. "I just woke up, and I'm already cleaning up some sort of mess."

On a typical day, Skye was certainly not a man who was easily shocked. However, he found himself jumping for the second time that gloomy, New Year's Day. Taking a few heavy steps forward, the man let his gaze rest upon the form of an unconscious customer, passed out upon his, rather disgusting, linoleum flooring. Kneeling down, it became clear to the thief that the man was, in fact, alive, though he could have been on the other side of the room, and he would have been able to smell what the wasted figure had been doing the night before. Glancing at his face, the phantom thief recognized the man as a regular customer of his, which caused a sigh to leak through his tired face.

"Edward," Standing up again, the mercenary prodded the heap of flesh with the metal tip of his boot. "You may want to wake up."

With a weak groan, it appeared as though it was an agonizing feat for the man to comprehend Skye's words, much less lift his eyelids.

"Skggh... cuffeeee..."

"...I beg your pardon?" The thief was honestly impressed that Edward was able to talk, though he typically preferred for people to speak to him in English.

"Skye... get me some coffee."

...Oh. A chuckle echoed within the man's throat as he let his fingers drag through the silky strands of his lengthy hair. Edward was a regular of his from the local city. The tall, brown-haired man ran a pawn shop within a rather shady shopping district, and occasionally he was in need of a few higher-quality goods to make some decent money. He was a loyal man, though, as was entirely evident at that moment, he could be rather irresponsible, and had a particular weakness for the gentle burn of a fine whiskey. "So you passed out, intoxicated, in my office, only so you could make me get you a hot beverage when you came around?"

"...Yeah."

It was times like those which made Skye grateful to have such an influx of work to do on New Year's Eve. Though, in the end, there was really nothing for the man to do besides shrug his shoulders. With a motion of utmost elegance, the thin man adeptly swiped the customer's wallet from his jacket and retrieved a set of bills. Pocketing the generous amount as a fee, he tossed the possession like a discus so that it landed with a small plop upon the chest of its rightful owner.

"I'll be back within the hour," The thief let out a small cough as he made a beeline for the exit of his workplace. "You're lucky that I have such a generous soul."

"Nghh..."

**x-x-x**

Skye was a man who thoroughly enjoyed the cold. Or, at least, he welcomed it much more graciously than its twin, heat. Regardless, even the thief was happy to bask within the warm confines of a cafe after treading several blocks against the wind-chilled January air. Perhaps the weather would have been more tolerable if he had dressed appropriately. After dozing off in his clothes the previous night, the man had not bothered to change or add any layers to his outfit. In truth, only a wrinkled, black polo shirt and a set of his signature purple slacks adorned his body. Also, of course, the metal tips of his boots let off chimes as he stepped casually across the diner.

To steal from the cafe was perhaps the simplest job that the thief could have received. It involved a mindless strategy; wait until an order was ready for pick-up, and then take it before the rightful customer could claim the beverage. It may have been easier to get in line and simply buy a small cup of coffee for the hung-over, sorry excuse for a man in his office, but the world did not come to Skye to ask him to purchase anything. He was a thief, after all. And somehow, he always managed to get in-and-out more quickly when he used his more unique strategy.

"Large coffee," The voice boomed from the loudspeaker as the order was read, "ready for pick-up."

Like a dancer, the agile man walked with such grace and swiftness that he retrieved the beverage before any of the city-dwellers even knew what they had witnessed. With a smirk decorating his ghost-like complexion, the thief could see that the end was in sight. That was, until a powerful sound bellowed from behind where Skye stood.

"Ex-CUUSE me, but WHAT are YOU doin' with MY drink!?"

The thin man turned slowly, with irritation creased into his smooth skin. The person who had addressed him was large, to say the least, both in height and stature. Her chocolate-brown skin was wrapped in a pink gym outfit which was far too small for the wearer, and, in the opinion of the thief, far too bright for anyone to stare at during the hours of the day. However, as Skye's blue-grey eyes observed her dread-locked hair, and the lack of jewelry upon her person, he arrived at two very important conclusions.

The first was that she was, indeed, a woman.

And the second was that she was unmarried.

Suddenly, the man's demeanor took a dramatic change. His briefly irritated expression had morphed into a gentle, inviting face, and his creeping slouch straightened to radiate an air of confidence and chivalry, letting elegance overwhelm his entire body. Though not a pair of eyes in the cafe were paying attention to either of the two, any person would have been staring in shock at the thin man's transformation. For in less than a second, Skye had changed from a suspicious snake to a charismatic stallion.

"I am terribly sorry, Madame," Even the man's voice had an undeniable allure to it, "but I believe you are mistaken; this drink, most certainly, belongs to me."

Though, to the thief's disappointment, his pursuer appeared to have only been slightly shaken by his words. "I am tellin' you, fancy-pants, I paid for that drink! It is MINE."

A soft smile formed over the taller man's face as he proceeded to pace towards the large female. Anyone familiar with Skye knew very well that he had no understanding of the concept of "personal space", and that he used this to his advantage on a regular basis. At that moment, the thief put this trait to use as he leaned in dangerously close to the stranger, letting his moist breath caress her neck as a whisper carried his words to her ear.

"Mademoiselle," The title sounded so smooth on his tongue, that it seemed to have a delicious, creamy taste to it. "I thank you for your concern, and I apologize for your troubles. But, my gentle rose, I do believe that this drink is my own."

By the time Skye had finished speaking, the woman was practically trembling where she stood. Perfect. A great smirk crossed the man's face as he brought his pale fingers to gently caress the edge of her jawbone. It was a soft stroke, though one with enough strength to send chills of desire crawling throughout a person's spine. And as the stranger melted like butter into the thief's angelic touch, he knew very well that his job was beyond the point of completion.

With what seemed to be a single movement, the man turned on his heel and crossed the cafe to the door in an instant. Opening the glass door ever-so-slowly, Skye turned and gave the large woman a very distinct wink before letting it close behind him.

It took the woman two days to realize that she had never received her drink in the cafe at that time.

**x-x-x**

By the time that the sun had managed to climb to the point of high noon, Skye found himself to be alone in his office once again. When he had returned to his refuge, Edward had again fallen unconscious. So, like any good friend would do, the thief hauled the stoned mass outside and tossed him onto the sidewalk. Of course, he left the coffee by the man's side, but the pale man would not have been surprised if his wasted customer had knocked the cup over before he had even realized what it was. Either way, it was not the thief's problem. He had received his payment, so everything else was beyond his care to control.

According to the local city government, the structure and foundation of his office building was supposedly sound. However, Skye would beg to differ, as even the weakest rays of sunlight managed to poke through various holes littering the rotting ceiling and walls. As he tapped his boots upon the decaying linoleum floor, the pale man figured that a small breeze would probably be enough to turn the pathetic building into a ruin. Because of this, when a strong, hulk-like figured entered his office and slammed the door shut, the thief was briefly afraid that the trembling ceiling would collapse in onto the both of them. But the establishment seemed determined to live another day, and so the silver-haired man extended a greeting to his unknown guest.

"May I help you with something, Sir?"

At first glance, the stranger appeared to be the typical businessman; suit-clad, with polished shoes and sleek, gelled hair. However, as the outrageous amount of muscle hanging upon his limbs expressed, he was not a run-of-the-mill entrepreneur. The figure stormed up to the mercenary's desk and let his fists slam down against it, displaying the ripples of force which surged beneath his blazer, and throughout his body.

Needless to say, the lankier man was paying attention.

"My name..." The giant of a man spoke to the thief as though he was a gerbil; a rodent of sorts with fragile bones, waiting to be crushed. "...Is Frank West. And I have a job for you."

Certainly, Skye was paying attention, but not without a grand amount of amusement. It took great restraint for the silver-haired man to keep himself from letting a chortle slip. And so, he stood as well, letting his confident 6'4" tower over Frank's powerful six-foot frame.

"Fair enough, Mr. West," With an expression of confidence, Skye fiddled with a few of the various bangles adorning his slender wrists. It would certainly be interesting to hear what the stranger had to say.

Obviously unimpressed, Frank let a strong, craftsman-like hand retreat into one of his suit pockets, only to toss a folded piece of parchment onto the ruined desk. The thief, in turn, opened it to reveal a chart that he was quite familiar with.

"You present me with a map?"

Though as soon as he spoke the disbelieving words, a large, calloused finger was placed upon the dusty paper, pointing to a single dot. The faded, grey speck was one of several hundred adorning the map, each of which represented the location of a town or village within their island nation. "Do you know of this place?"

"Forget-Me-Not Valley?" Skye recited the name of the marked location aloud as he raked through his memory banks. When the customer nodded in response, clarifying the town's name, the thief had no choice but to shrug; he had never been to such a place. "I cannot say that I do."

"Well, you will soon," Not a hint of jest resided in Frank's husky voice as he continued to explain, "In this rural farming village rests perhaps the most esteemed real estate property in this country. To make a long story short, I would like you to relieve this 'Villa' of a few of its more precious treasures. Including the house deed, if you do not mind."

To this, the pale-haired man responded with an easy nod. The job certainly seemed within his line of work, and his attention was only enticed further as Frank continued his speech. "You will be escorted to and from the vicinity of the valley, and of course, your pay, on the occasion that you are met with success, will be very generous."

It was all that Skye needed to hear. A seemingly interesting job with wonderful pay? His line of work rarely saw better days. To end it all, the tanned figure offered out a bulky hand as a business motion. Shaking it would amount to signing a contract in the pale man's world, and of this, his customer was apparently very aware.

"Do we have a deal, pretty boy?"

With a great smile adorning his face, the thief took a firm hold upon the bulkier hand, shaking it, and sealing the offer in blood.

"I would be honored to take this job."


End file.
